Bistamas Lieta
by NiiSiiChiiChan
Summary: France, England, America, and another country that no one really knows. What's his name again? Oh, Canada! Anyways, a love square erupts between these four star-crossed lovers. Who will end up with who?
1. Chapter 1

The shrill ring is what woke the sleeping French-man. He groaned, rolling over in his bed to pick up the old fashioned phone.

"Bonjour, comment mai-je vous adier?"

"Ah! Francis! You answered!" The voice on the other line giggled, responding in Quebec-French. The French-man's heart dropped, eye flitting over to the blond-tuff in the bed next to him.

"Ah, Matthew. I'm glad you called. I, uh, can I help you?" He rolled over on his back sighing. He didn't want to deal with this. Not now, not here. A hand worked it's way up his chest, and Francis looked over to see green eyes smiling at him. He smiled back and answered in French back. "Ah, I can't talk right now. Maybe later?" The voice giggled and agreed, hanging up. Sighing, Francis hung up the phone and rolled on his side, facing Arthur. He propped his head up on his elbow and smiled. "Je t'aime bebe." He smirked, cupping the other's face in his hand. Arthur rolled his eyes, snorting.

"Oh shut up France. You're such a gitface." He laughed, standing up and picking up his boxers off the floor. "Ah~, I have no clean clothes." He frowned, jumping slightly when arms wrapped around his waist.

"Then stay here." He grinned, moving his hands up to tweak a nipple, earning a small moan. He smirked, pulling the naked country down onto the bed, caressing his torso.

"Ah~, F – France..." Arthur muttered, pushing at the other's shoulders lightly. "G – get off...I'm not in the mo – Ah!" He gasped as France grabbed his "vital regions", nibbling on the nape of his neck. England pushed France off, blushing as he grabbed his boxers off the floor, pulling them on.

"Ah, where did I throw..." He looked through the family room, picking up random articles of clothing trying to find his clothes. He picked up a piece of cloth and squinted. There was barely anything there!

He frowned, holding it up in front of his face. A blush spread across his face quickly and he felt rage inside him. There was an American flag on the front. Or, at least, what was left on the front. He threw it down, storming back into the bedroom, not caring that France was finishing the job without him.

"What the hell are these?!" He fumed, hand on his hip.

"My my, mon cherie, you're so cute when you're furious." He smirked, bringing his hands out from under the covers to lick them clean. "They're Alfred's," he answered, "as-a-matter-of-factly". This caused England to blush and cross his arms.

"Nandemo, I'm leaving." He turned, leaving out the door. He pulled his pants off the fake potted plant and pulled them on, getting into his very small car and leaving, drumming his fingers on the wall.


	2. Chapter 2

"I can't believe he would do that...Sleep with France...Hah," England scoffed, drumming his fingers on his steering wheel as the traffic moved at a snail crawl. He sighed, eyes flitting over to the rear view mirror, which stared back with hurt green orbs. He stared back, determined to beat this feeling. Huffing, he looked out the window at the rain running down the window of his car. He didn't know _why_ he felt so upset after seeing those undergarments. Besides, they could've been anyones. He laughed nervously. Closing his eyes for a second, he saw the innocent blue eyes looking back at him in question. He opened the up, vision blurry, and moved forward a few centimeters.

His cell phone caused him to jump and he picked it up, wiping his eyes and squinting at the number. It was an American number. He rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, hitting the "Answer" button.

"Hello, how may I help you?" He answered in a rather pleasant tone.

"Arthur! I didn't think you would answer!" He laughed, and the sound of a microwave beeping went off.

"What in the bloody hell is going on over there?"

"Oh, that? That was my McDonalds! I was going to eat it when I first ordered it, but then Canada came over and well," He laughed nervously and England almost audibly gasped. "But anyways, could you do me a favour?"

England sighed. He couldn't refuse. He didn't have the heart to. Well, he did, but definitely not to Alfred. "Su – Sure. What do you need?" He smiled, even though the other couldn't see him.

"Since you're driving from France's place, could you stop by Germany's and pick something up for me?" His words were muffled due to the Big Mac that was being shoved down his throat.

"Ho – How did you know I was at France's?!" He gasped, blushing harshly.

Alfred laughed, slurping his soda. "Canada told me, after he called this morning."

"I see. Well, I can't. Sorry. Germany is way too out of the way for me. Besides, I need to take a river boat home." He sighed.

"Ah~, please?"

"Absolutely not." He answered back, pressing the hang up button and instantly regretting it. Sighing, he put on his blinker and left out the exit, out of traffic.

"Ne, at least I'll be able to get home and just be by myself for a little. I think my pets are getting hungry..." He sighed, referring to the unicorn he liked to believe lived with him. Stopping at the light, he looked over towards his phone to see a text message waiting. He picked it up and read it. It was from France, asking if he could come over that night. England sighed and replied _"No, I want to be by myself for a little while. Maybe some other time._"

"He probably thinks I'm blowing him off," He shrugged, tossing his phone into the seat next to him. It bounced off the upholstery and fell onto the floor, quietly vibrating as another text message was received.

He sighed, pulling into a convenience store and grabbing a shirt off of the back seat. He walked inside and tapped on the counter, deciding on which magazine to buy.

"Hey! Jerk England!" England's back stiffened and he turned around, seeing a small boy in a sailor uniform holding hands with a shaking boy. "What're you doing here?"

"Buying a magazine, Sealand. What do you want." He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"America was looking for you earlier!" He giggled, giving a peace sign.

_A – America?_


	3. Chapter 3

"Tch..." England muttered, pulling up to the American's house and spotting the Canadians car in the driveway. "Why am I here if _he's_ just going to preoccupy America's time..." Shaking his head, England put the car in park, got out, and made his way to the door. He paused before he knocked, hesitant as he heard voices.

"Alfie-nii! Where are you?" the voice inside giggled and England rolled his eyes. Of _course_ Canada was there. What they were doing, he had no clue. A gloved hand raised once more to knock on the door, but stopped immediately once the familiar voice rang on the inside.

"Matthew, what're you doing?" it laughed, and England felt his chest get tighter. "I'm in the kitchen." England's hand knocked and and he crossed his arms, tapping his foot impatiently.

"D-do you want me to get it?" This voice was awfully close, right by the door, as it sounded.

"Sure, I'm busy making coffee."

The door opened and England smiled painfully. "Hello Canada. Is America home?" _What a dumb question! Of course he's home...You bloody git..._

"Yeah! H-he's in the kitchen. Come on in." The boy stepped aside and England walked in, wiping his shoes on the small mat beforehand.

"Ah! England!" America grinned, coming around the corner from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his jeans.

"Sealand said you were looking for me." His voice was official, and he looked at a spot above America's eyes, to avoid making eye contact.

"Yeah..." America scratched the back of his head nervously and laughed. "Sealand told me you'd arrive if I said that. We...ah..." America looked over, Canada standing beside him. The older brother reached out and grabbed the younger's hand, who immediately blushed and gripped his bear tighter.

England felt his heart drop, and his breath leave his chest so fast he staggered over slightly, falling backwards onto a chair. Breathing shakily, he looked up at the two brothers. America furrowed his brow, letting out a sigh.

"We're worried about your...how can I say this..."alliance" with France."

England glared now, regaining his composure rather quickly and standing up. "Alliance, you say? What makes you say that?" He swallowed hard. Was America doing things with Canada behind his back to get him jealous? No...there was no way he'd do that. But that's like what he did for France, so...!

"We know about last night." Canada's head tilted slightly and he smiled innocently.

"Yeah...It's no secret. But we're worried about it. We're afraid France will wind up turning on you the second Germany or Russia decide to attack."

England's eyes narrowed more and he brushed a bit of hair out of his face, brushing past the two to let himself into the kitchen. "I don't think our "alliance" is any of your business. Besides, your "alliance" seems to be going strong, so I don't see why you need to stick your nose in my business." He spoke angrily as he opened and slammed cabinet doors. "That's so bloody you, America. Sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. That's why you're at war with Iraq right now! Uday did nothing! But no, you had to go and stick your nose where it didn't belong, and now you're at war. Dammit America! Don't you have any tea?!"

America's back stiffened at the mention of the Arabic country, and he let go of his brother's hand to storm into the kitchen. Angrily, he placed an open palm to the cabinet the brit had opened and slammed it shut, green eyes looking up at his blue ones in surprise. "Don't _fucking mention that country_." America practically growled. Canada whimpered from the other room, and a door shut, indicating he had left the area.

England's lip turned up in disgust. "Why? You should own up to your mistakes. I sure as hell did. And look, you're still here." He immediately regretted saying that, a brought a hand to his own mouth in surprise.

America's eyes went cold and he straightened his back, breathing in loudly through his nose. "Oh. Well then." He pulled his hand back from the cabinet and turned around, looking over his shoulder as he walked out the kitchen door. "I think you should leave now."

"Alfred wait!"

"I don't wanna fuckin' hear it, England. I really don't." He sighed and England felt his heart drop. _H-he...He called me _England_...Instead of Arthur..._

"Al – America..." England watched as America scoffed, muttering to himself as he opened the door to the room Canada has previously occupied, and slammed it hard enough that the picture next to the door feel off of the nail and to the floor, shattering. Bringing his hand to his forehead, England sighed and walked over to the door to pick up the picture frame and clean it up, just because he felt bad.

Tears sprang to his eyes the moment he saw the picture. It was him and America. Wiping his eyes, he sat backwards, holding the picture whilst listening to Canada's and America's conversation in the other room.

"Alfie-nii...If he makes you that angry, don't try anymore."

"Matthew, it's not _that_ easy. I – I mean, I can't get him out of my head." America sighed. As did the other two.

"Well then, I have no idea how to help you. It seems as if he's moved on though. F – for France..." England could hear the hurt in his voice and he looked up, blinking. Was Canada still pineing for France's attention? England shook his head and stood up, his spirits a bit lighter. Knocking on the door twice, he leaned an ear against it to listen for a response. There was a bit of rustling and cursing. He then heard a zipper, and the door opened to shirtless America and a disheveled looking Canada kneeling on the bed. England's heart dropped for the third time that day, and he lowered his hand as the taller glared at him.

"What?"

"I – I'll be leaving now..." He looked off, the tears stinging at his eyes once more. "I just thought I'd say goodbye." He looked up and nodded before sniffling and turning away, making his way out the front door as America called after him.

"I'm so bloody stupid..." England laughed as the tears ran down his face. He squeezed through the two cars and opened his car door, slamming it shut hard. "Bloody...France..." He sobbed, laying his head against the steering wheel.

England must have been not only emotionally exhausted, but physically as well, because he fell asleep through the tears, sitting in his car, parked in America's driveway.


End file.
